The Great Impersonation, E. Phillips Oppenheim [finding audrey TXT] 📗

asking him to come up this afternoon and to keep Lady Dominey under his personal observation until my return.”

She stood quite still, looking at him. Then she came a little nearer and leaned forward, as though studying his face.

“Eleven years,” she muttered, “do change many men, but I never knew a man made out of a weakling.”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” Dominey replied, “except to let you know that I am coming to see my wife in the space of a few minutes.”

The motor-horn was already sounding below when Dominey was admitted to his wife’s apartment. She was dressed in a loose gown of a warm crimson colour, and she had the air of one awaiting his arrival expectantly. The passion of hatred seemed to have passed from her pale face and from the depths of her strangely soft eyes. She held out her hands towards him. Her brows were a little puckered. The disappointment of a child lurked in her manner.

“You are going away?” she murmured.

“In a very few moments,” he told her. “I have been waiting to see you for an hour.”

She made a grimace.

“It was Mrs. Unthank. I think that she hid my things on purpose. I was so anxious to see you.”

“I want to talk to you about Mrs. Unthank,” he said. “Should you be very unhappy if I sent her away and found someone younger and kinder to be your companion?”

The idea seemed to be outside the bounds of her comprehension.

“Mrs. Unthank would never go,” she declared. “She stays here to listen to the voice. All night long sometimes she waits and listens, and it doesn’t come. Then she hears it, and she is rested.”

“And you?” he asked.

“I am afraid,” she confessed. “But then, you see, I am not very strong.”

“You are not fond of Mrs. Unthank?” he enquired anxiously.

“I don’t think so,” she answered, in a perplexed tone. “I think I am very much afraid of her. But it is no use, Everard! She would never go away.”

“When I return,” Dominey said, “we shall see.”

She took his arm and linked her hands through it.

“I am so sorry that you are going,” she murmured. “I hope you will soon come back. Will you come back⁠—my husband?”

Dominey’s nails cut into the flesh of his clenched hands.

“I will come back within three days,” he promised.

“Do you know,” she went on confidentially, “something has come into my mind lately. I spoke about it yesterday, but I did not tell you what it was. You need never be afraid of me any more. I understand.”

“What do you understand?” he demanded huskily.

“The knowledge must have come to me,” she went on, dropping her voice a little and whispering almost in his ear, “at the very moment when my dagger rested upon your throat, when I suddenly felt the desire to kill die away. You are very like him sometimes, but you are not Everard. You are not my husband at all. You are another man.”

Dominey gave a little gasp. They both turned towards the door. Mrs. Unthank was standing there, her gaunt, hard face lit up with a gleam of something which was like triumph, her eyes glittering. Her lips, as though involuntarily, repeated her mistress’ last words.

“Another man!”

XIV

There were times during their rapid journey when Seaman, studying his companion, became thoughtful. Dominey seemed, indeed, to have passed beyond the boundaries of any ordinary reserve, to have become like a man immeshed in the toils of a past so absorbing that he moved as though in a dream, speaking only when necessary and comporting himself generally like one to whom all externals have lost significance. As they embarked upon the final stage of their travels, Seaman leaned forward in his seat in the sombrely upholstered, overheated compartment.

“Your homecoming seems to depress you, Von Ragastein,” he said.

“It was not my intention,” Dominey replied, “to set foot in Germany again for many years.”

“The past still bites?”

“Always.”

The train sped on through long chains of vineyard-covered hills, out into a stretch of flat country, into forests of pines, in the midst of which were great cleared spaces, where, notwithstanding the closely drawn windows, the resinous odour from the fallen trunks seemed to permeate the compartment. Presently they slackened speed. Seaman glanced at his watch and rose.

“Prepare yourself, my friend,” he said. “We descend in a few minutes.”

Dominey glanced out of the window.

“But where are we?” he enquired.

“Within five minutes of our destination.”

“But there is not a house in sight,” Dominey remarked wonderingly.

“You will be received on board His Majesty’s private train,” Seaman announced. “The Kaiser, with his staff, is making one of his military tours. We are honoured by being permitted to travel back with him as far as the Belgian frontier.”

They had come to a standstill now. A bearded and uniformed official threw open the door of their compartment, and they stepped on to the narrow wooden platform of a small station which seemed to have been recently built of fresh pine planks. The train, immediately they had alighted, passed on. Their journey was over.

A brief conversation was carried on between Seaman and the official, during which Dominey took curious note of his surroundings. Around the station, half hidden in some places by the trees and shrubs, was drawn a complete cordon of soldiers, who seemed to have recently disembarked from a military train which stood upon a siding. In the middle of it was a solitary saloon carriage, painted black, with much gold ornamentation, and having emblazoned upon the central panel the royal arms of Germany. Seaman, when he had finished his conversation, took Dominey by the arm and led him across the line towards it. An officer received them at the steps and bowed punctiliously to Dominey, at whom he gazed with much interest.

“His Majesty will receive you at once,” he announced. “Follow me.”

They boarded the train and passed along a richly carpeted corridor. Their guide paused and pointed to a small retiring-room, where several men were